


Medicinal Purposes

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Community: bsg_kink, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, breaking rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: Theme was "Things we shouldn't do" and prompt was "Laura/Cottle - With Bill in a drunken stupor in his quarters, Laura turns to Jack, who turns out to be an above average kisser - among other things."
I know canon has his first name as "Sherman" but there's fanon for "Jack" and that was the prompt :-)





	

 

He was exhausted. As much as the President was having to force herself to accept treatment again, he was forcing himself to be her medical tormentor…again. Cottle ground his cigarette out with extra force.

He wasn’t an insubordinate man. He understood issues of rank as well as he understood medical procedures. But Godsdamnit, why the _frak_ did Bill have to pick this time to get shit-faced? It was Lee’s party…tonight. Other times it was because his back was killing him, or there had been another crushing loss of some kind.

He wondered what the months had been like aboard _Galactica_ , before the New Caprica rescue. His fingers clenched into a fist on top of the President’s file. He knew what those months had been like for him, for President—for Laura, for the others. The thought of Bill drowning his sorrows in a safe, comfortable rack turned his vision red around the edges. The Admiral had no idea—

“Jack?” The voice was reedy and cracked, but he’d recognize it anywhere. He turned to the open hatch.

_Gods. She looks like hell._

He was on his feet before he realized it, grabbing Laura by her arms and guiding her to his narrow couch. His gentle-gruff questioning peeled back layers of pain. And each time she brushed at her welling eyes, he watched her almost push her hair back, and then stop, her hand freezing by her cheek.

The third time, he took her hand in his. “You can touch it, Laura. It’s okay.”

He’d meant her hair, that it wouldn’t fall out from her pushing it out of her eyes. He certainly hadn’t meant his own hair, but there her fingers were, winding through his thick white strands. And her eyes, misty with bitter longing, tinged with disappointment. Her words were a jumbled mix of “I just wanted—“ “while I still can—“ “I didn’t want—“. Their bodies leaned in closer, need filling the space between them, him giving, her taking.

They both said “Godsdamn that man” at the same time.

 

The first kiss was tentative, the wrongness of it holding him back. His patient, his President, his friend’s lover…then her teeth bit into his lower lip and my Gods, she was growling at him, tugging at the buttons of her blouse. The next kiss was longer, the next one longer still. Breathless, they pulled apart.

“We’re doing this, okay? Jack? Look at me.” Her eyes were dry and hot, tears burnt away in something between fury and lust.

“I’m not dead yet. And I won’t be buried early because Bill can’t handle…this.” Her hands cupped her full breasts through lace for a moment, then reached for him.

His last professional thought was they looked so different out of a clinical setting.

They felt different.

They tasted different.

There was something about her undressing in front of him that worked on them both, brought the image of hospital gowns and weakness. They moved enough fabric aside, and down, and over to make it work.

_Gentle, gotta be…she’s been hurt so much…Gods, I’ve hurt her so much_. He held back, willing himself to not get so lost in the moment he’d cause her more pain.

_He’d_ be ramming into her by now, man’s got no control when his blood’s up, he’d seen that, he’d patched him up from that. Jack gave her an easy glide, slow, caressing her skin, lips against the pulse in her throat. Her bunched-up skirt rasped against his belly as they moved together.

He wanted to tell her this wasn’t from classroom anatomy, colored pages of the clitoris, the vulva, the vaginal walls. His touch, the circling, stroking moves at her center were from love, from remembered joy, from bawdy teasing, happy frakking. He shoved the words down and kept on touching, following her lead.

She finally shuddered under him, mouth hard against the side of his neck as she came, breathy wordless gasping.

_Shallow breaths_ , his traitorous clinical mind worried. Jack shook it off and gave over to the sharp-sweet sensations flooding his body. For the last few thrusts, the final outpouring, he didn’t care if he hurt her or not, he wanted more, _more_ …

Over.

Guilt flooded in on the heels of his orgasm. He slipped out of her, kissing her again, taking his time. She broke it off first, giving him a look he couldn’t quite read. Happy, satisfied…and something else.

“Can you hand me my blouse?”

He did as she asked, then fumbled with his own clothes.

“You know, I’m still gonna have to do things you’re not gonna like. Don’t know if this is gonna make that worse.”

She chuckled. “I’m surrounded by people doing things I don’t like. I’m doing things to myself I don’t like. I can handle it.” She quieted, all levity gone. “Most of the time, I can handle it.”

His throat tightened. He reached for another cigarette. “And when you can’t?”

“When I can’t…when he can’t….” She sighed. “I really don’t know, Jack. I shouldn’t ask, but…if I need to, would it be okay if I came back?”

He steeled himself against what he saw over her shoulder, the auburn strands loose on the arm of his couch. It wouldn’t be long. And she needed-- _they_ , the other “they,” needed to be there for each other.

Godsdamnit.

“Whatever you need, Madam President.” He brought her hand to his lips and gave it a respectful kiss. “Your doctor will always be here for you.” He could see it sting, just for a second, then the President’s persona slipped back into place and she gave him a calm, professional smile, a few cool words of thanks and goodbye.

He watched her leave, scripting out exactly what he would say to kick Bill Adama’s ass back to reality, and lit his cigarette. 


End file.
